


Where the Ocean Meets the Sky

by serenelystrange



Category: Leverage
Genre: F/M, Feels, Fluff, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-13 03:58:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1211854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenelystrange/pseuds/serenelystrange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Parker drags the guys away to Las Vegas for some fun. A mish-mash of fluff and feels, and a little bit of work commences!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the Ocean Meets the Sky

.

**NOW**

**.**

“This was supposed to be a vacation!”

Parker takes a moment in the chaos to stick her tongue out at Eliot, before diving under the heavy table.

“Not the time, princess!”

“Seriously?” Eliot grumbles, knocking a gun out of the closest goon’s hand and casually kicking the man’s knee in until he drops to the floor. “Another hair joke?”

“It is getting a little bit long,” Hardison puts in, grinning in satisfaction as his attacker collapses under the intensity of Hardison’s taser gun.

“Who _are_ you people?”

The three of them freeze and look down at the zip-tied man sitting on the floor.

Parker offers him a wide grin, and its calming effect is only dampened slightly by the fact that she has the heel of her boot pressed against a near-unconscious man’s throat.

“Us?” she says. “We’re the good guys.”

The zip-tied man, understandably, looks less than convinced.

.

.

**THREE DAYS EARLIER**

“Let’s go over this one last time,” Eliot says, slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder as they make their way towards the security line.

“No hacking the fellow passengers,” Hardison says, lugging his own duffel as well as pulling along Parker’s rolling bag.

“No pick-pocketing the fellow passengers,” Parker adds, pouting.

“No turning the in-flight TV screens into a plane-wide game of pong,” Hardison says, “…spoilsport.”

“I’m not dealing with Cincinnati all over again, Hardison,” Eliot grumbles.

“No inappropriate comments about the statistics of airplane crashes,” Parker continues, “again.”

“No punching the fellow passengers,” Hardison says, staring at Eliot pointedly.

Eliot’s honestly impressed that the other man manages to glare while still keeping up their rapid walking pace.

“Fair enough,” he shrugs, “I won’t punch anyone.”

“No sex in the plane bathroom either,” Parker says.

“Topeka,” Hardison agrees, nodding.

“She was a _contortionist_ ,” Eliot says, with a dreamy expression breaking out across his face. “What would you have done?”

“Stayed in my damn seat like a respectable, _hygienic_ , human being,” Hardison replies, shaking his head in mock-disgust.

Eliot snorts. “You just know Parker could kill you with her bare hands before you could even scream.”

“It is one of my best qualities,” Parker agrees.

“Maybe I should just drug you both for the flight,” Eliot says, dropping his voice as they pass an eager looking security guard.

“I will shave your head in your sleep,” Parker says, simply.

“I don’t sleep,” Eliot retorts, smirking.

“You will,” Parker promises, smiling serenely.

“My friends are psychopaths,” Hardison says, sighing.

“At least we’ll be psychopaths in first class,” Eliot says, shrugging as they reach the back of the line.

The man in front of them looks over his shoulder with a nervous smile, eyes just a little too wide to seem calm.

“Eyes to the front, Sparky,” Parker scolds, raising an eyebrow at him in a clear command.

The man flushes red and whips his head back around, studiously ignoring the trio behind him.

.

When they finally get through security and make their way to the gate, Eliot takes a moment to level Parker and Hardison with glare.

“Just for the record,” he says, “I think this is a terrible idea.”

 “It’ll be fun,” Parker says, slapping Eliot across the shoulder with considerable force.

“One day,” Eliot says, rubbing his shoulder while glaring at Parker, “you and I are gonna have a sit down, and I’m going to explain the definition of fun to you. And personally, I don’t think crowded casinos with drunken gamblers and pushy salesmen is fun.”

“Just wait,” Parker replies, “you’ll have fun.”

“Want to put money on that?” Eliot dares.

“Five bucks,” Parker replies. “Five bucks says you’ll have fun with us before this trip is over. Hardison, give me five bucks.”

“Woman, you have your own money!” Hardison protests, even as he’s pulling the bill from his wallet.

“I don’t bet with my own money, silly,” Parker says, reaching up to boop Hardison on the nose like a small child.

“Deal,” Eliot agrees, sighing.

And then, blessedly, the boarding gates open, and Eliot takes the opportunity to ignore his friends in favor of getting on the plane.

 

.

“I have to admit, this is pretty sweet,” Eliot says, taking in the view from the enormous windows of his hotel suite.

“Told you,” Parker says, tucking herself against Hardison’s side as he comes to stand with them in front of the windows.

Hardison smiles down at her, watching the sunset fall across her face in shades of orange and red.

“Gorgeous,” he says, eyes soft with adoration.

“No sappiness in my room,” Eliot demands, without looking away from the window.

“You’re just jealous,” Hardison replies, placing an obnoxiously loud kiss on Parker’s cheek.

Eliot rolls his eyes as he turns around to face them.

“Out. Both of you. Go and do whatever it is you two do on days off. As long as I don’t have to listen to it.”

He tries for it to come out angry, but he mostly just sounds fond, a fact that isn’t lost on either Parker or Hardison.

“Hot tub!” Parker exclaims, looping her fingers through Hardison’s and giving him a little tug.

“Didn’t bring my suit,” Hardison says, frowning slightly.

Parker grins. “Me, either.”

Eliot cringes as Hardison’s face lights up in glee.

“I don’t need those mental images, assholes,” Eliot scolds them.

“Well, you ain’t invited, so don’t worry your damn self about it,” Hardison replies, slipping the fingers of his other hand just inside the waist of Parker’s jeans.

“Out!” Eliot says again, louder this time but with an unmistakable amusement to his voice.

They finally leave, heading across the hall to their own room, and Eliot snicks the deadbolt into place with satisfaction. His own hot tub is calling his name, injuries from last week’s scuffle still aching in places, just barely stronger than the calling of the truly decadent looking bed that he can’t wait to crash on.

.

They meet for breakfast in the morning, Eliot looking well rested for the first time in weeks, and Parker and Hardison looking a little worn out but smugly satisfied. Eliot studiously ignores the expressions on their faces and the obvious morning-sex hair in favor of following his nose to the coffee bar. There are so many choices that he actually stutters to a stop for a moment, unable to figure out where to start.

“It’s overwhelming, isn’t it?”

Eliot looks up to see a petite woman with wide green eyes trained on him in amusement.

He takes a split-second to determine if she’s a threat, old habits never quite dying, hard or otherwise. After deciding that no, she’s not some sort of spy or assassin, he offers her a small smile in return.

“I can’t decide which coffee to drink before I’ve had my coffee,” he admits.

“Need. Caffeine. Now” the woman agrees, laughing lightly. “I’m Annie.”

“Eliot,” he replies, reaching out to shake her hand.

“The French-vanilla looks… less complicated,” Annie says, filling up her mug and swirling some sugar into it, followed by two creamers.

“Good choice,” Eliot agrees, fixing up his own cup with fewer creamers than hers, but a bit more sugar.

“My friends are waiting for me,” Annie says, apologetically, gesturing over to a vaguely hung-over looking group of women in the far corner.

“Mine, too,” Eliot says, rolling his eyes and pointing to Hardison and Parker, who are in the middle of building an admittedly impressive tower out of the tiny bottles of maple syrup.

“I’ll see you around,” she says, giving him a charmingly crooked grin.

Eliot nods easily, taking a long sip of his coffee as he watches her walk away. The freckles across her left cheek trail around and smatter across the back of her neck, exposed under the messy bun of black and gold-streaked hair.

.

“We’ve been here less than fifteen hours,” Hardison says, laughing, “And you’re already picking up girls?”

“It was just friendly conversation, Hardison,” Eliot replies, stealing a piece of bacon off of his plate and biting off a chunk of it defiantly.

“She’s cute,” Parker says, giving an assessing look over to Annie’s table. “You should go for it.”

“I don’t need your help,” Eliot says, mentally calculating the odds of Parker castrating him if he knocked down their maple syrup tower. It comes out to about 76%, which is at least 26% more chance than he’s willing to take while he’s still on his first cup of coffee.

“Great legs,” Hardison agrees with Parker, nodding in appreciation.

“Maybe you should go for it, then,” Eliot throws back at him, smirking.

“After breakfast,” Parker replies, not even bothering to look up from the little tourist guide pamphlet she’s been amusing herself with. “Shoot, when is a door not a door?”

“I thought we agreed no puzzles until at least noon,” Hardison sighs, shaking his head. “And also, when it’s ajar.”

“Ha!” Parker exclaims, scribbling in the answer with a surely pilfered pen. “That’s clever.”

“Are either of you going to comment on, or explain, the fact that Parker just casually suggested a threesome at the breakfast table?” Eliot asks, staring at them both in befuddlement.

“Sometimes we have threesomes,” Parker says, simply. “What’s not to get?”

“You are not invited,” Hardison adds, “no offense.”

“So… you’ve done this before?” Eliot can’t help but ask.

“Turns out there is almost nothing to do in Seattle during a government shut-down,” Hardison shrugs.

“Almost ruined our whole trip,” Parker agrees. “But then we met Kai.”

“She was visiting from Hawaii,” Hardison explains, “loved the rain.”

“She just broke up with her boyfriend,” Parker continues, “and we found her in the hotel lobby, on her third tequila sunrise, phone in her hand.”

“We couldn’t have her calling that asshole and begging for him to take her back,” Hardison says, mildly.

“So we joined her for a few drinks,” Parker says.

“And a few more,” Hardison adds.

“And next thing you know,” Parker says, enacting out a complicated serious of body movements with her hands, “sex!”

“That seems… somewhat morally ambiguous,” Eliot says, brain still trying to catch up to the fact that his best friends just sometimes have threesomes like it’s nothing.

“It was her idea!” Parker defends. “Everyone was fully consenting!”

“And fully naked,” Hardison adds, grinning at the memory.

Eliot’s still so thrown off that he doesn’t even have the brain power to make the obvious lei jokes.

“Plus,” Parker says, “It’s not like you’ve never had a threesome. I know for a fact you’ve been part of at least one orgy.”

“How do you know that for a fact?!” Hardison says, raising his eyebrows at Eliot in both alarm and potential anger.

“I walked in on them!” Parker says, “So many vaginas in one place.”

“She turned right around,” Eliot says, shrugging, “much to Brandi’s disappointment.”

“I can actually hear the “Brandi with an I” in that name,” Hardison says, only slightly judgingly. “I bet she has a hello kitty tattoo.”

“Pikachu, actually,” Eliot says, “right above her…”

“Can you just eat, please?!” Parker butts in, shoving a plate of waffles in front of Eliot with a pointed glare.

“That’s what she said,” Eliot mumbles around a mouthful of syrupy goodness, “literally.”

Parker chuckles despite herself, and Hardison groans into his cinnamon toast crunch.

All in all, it’s a good morning.

.

Their hotel is a few blocks off the strip itself, just far enough so they’re not swarmed with drunken co-eds and wedding parties, but close enough to walk down to the main area with no trouble. It’s warm out, but not as sweltering hot as they might have expected for early afternoon.

They duck into one of the larger casinos, bristling at the sudden blast of chilled air, and taking a moment for their senses to adjust to all of the overwhelming lights and sounds.

“Why couldn’t we go to Fiji, again?” Eliot asks, taking a moment to squint angrily at some of the neon lights.

“Because last time we tried that, _someone_ pissed off the local mob boss by trying to pick up his wife,” Parker points out, smirking at Eliot.

“One day, a nice girl is just going to be a nice girl,” Eliot says, sighing, “Not someone’s wife, or a former Israeli assassin, or part of a job, or my freaking ex-fiancée.”

Parker and Hardison exchange a quick glance, feeling bad for teasing their friend, not used to the rare moments of vulnerability he shows them.

After a moment, the awkward silence is too much and Parker breaks out into a grin and smack Eliot on the shoulder.

“No moping today!” she says. “When we get home, we’ll set you up on one of those dating sites.”

“NO,” Eliot says, pointing a finger at her threateningly.

Parker just rolls her eyes.

“I can see it now,” Hardison jumps in. “My name is Eliot. I’m thirty-something, love to cook, enjoy long walks on the beach, and bashing people’s faces in with my fists…”

“And also, I have more hair products than you,” Parker finishes, reaching out to ruffle Eliot’s hair.

“You people are the worst,” Eliot says, but he’s smiling.

“You mean best,” Parker says.

“He obviously means best,” Hardison agrees.

“Let’s go lose some money,” Eliot says, shaking his head in amusement.

.

They split off for a while, wandering in different directions to check things out, with a vague plan to meet back in a few hours for dinner. Eliot heads for one of the poker tables, intent on making a little money but not causing himself too much attention. Hardison wanders the floor, accepting the tiny free drinks along the way, and stopping every few slot machines to try his luck before moving on.

Parker decides to go for a different approach. She moves through the crowd silently, swiping wallets and tokens at random, with nothing more than skill and light footsteps to protect her from the ever-present security guards. At the end of her journey, she flips through the wallets, scanning them for anything interesting. Four boring, middle-aged men, 2 soccer mom types on much –needed vacations, and just one little old lady with a strip of faded photos tucked neatly into the wallet. She stares at that one sadly for a moment, before sighing and tucking all the wallets back against her side.

The trip back through the crowd to replace the wallets is more difficult than the first trip, but she supposed that’s because she’s had much less practice at returning the things she’s stolen over the years.

She keeps the handful of tokens, tucks them into the pocket of her jeans and tries to rub the smell of overused metal from her hands. She’s distracted by the motion for half a moment, which is the only way she justifies herself in the next one, tripping over her own feet and colliding into an unassuming looking man.

They go tumbling at first, and the man only just manages to right himself before he falls to the ground. Parker pulls away, sparing him a cursory glance to make sure he wasn’t injured. The man seems to do the same, before finally looking up at her.

He’s almost the epitome of average in description. On the shorter side, just an inch under Parker, but not so short as to draw attention to the fact. Brown hair and eyes, framing an unremarkable if pleasant enough face. Not fat or thin, but somewhere in the middle. Parker imagines he has 2.5 kids and a white picket fence at home. Probably somewhere in Connecticut.

“You alright?” he asks, and even the man’s voice is average. No discernible accent, no particular inflection, a perfectly neutral volume.

“I’m fine,” Parker says, managing not to cringe at his hand on her elbow.

There’s a beat of awkward pause, before she remembers social protocol.

“Are you?” she asks, giving him a concerned, if not entirely authentic, smile.

He nods quickly, swallowing hard as he does so. For a moment, his expression shifts, and Parker swears he looks far too worried for the current situation.

“I’m fine, too,” he says, and then he’s gone, the cheap fabric of his suit jacket scratching Parker’s hand as he goes by.

She’s left staring after him in confusion, something about the interaction not sitting right inside her stomach, but she pushes it aside for the time being.

.

They go back to the hotel for a power nap before meeting for dinner in one of the fancy Italian restaurants they’d walked by earlier.

It’s the kind of place that requires jackets and ties and frowns upon speaking above a hushed whisper. But they decide that they might as well give it a shot anyway.

Hardison shows up in a dark grey suit, the jacket open to reveal a form fitting vest and thin green tie. Eliot wears the darkest jeans he owns and a jacket Parker is sure he bought just before dinner, forgoing the tie and glaring at anyone who dares to look at him with judgment. Parker puts them both to shame, if the approving looks of strangers are any indication. Her dress is a pale blue that makes her skin glow beautifully in contrast. It’s tight and stops at mid-thigh, curving over her hips like a second skin. Her shows put her right at Hardison’s height, and she takes a moment to appreciate how much better she can walk in heels than when they started all this. Sophie would be proud.

“Jesus,” Hardison says, exhaling appreciatively, as he gets a good look at her. He’d left before her to make sure they were checked in for the reservation, and hadn’t seen the finished product.

“Good?” Parker asks, smirking slightly and gesturing to her outfit. She gives a little shimmy, because yeah, she knows she looks great, and it’s a nice feeling to have.

“Amazing,” Hardison replies, reaching out to grab her hand as they wait to be seated.

“Confidence has always looked good on you,” Eliot says, shrugging.

The hostess appears before they can continue the conversation, and leads them to their table.

.

“I ran into this guy today,” Parker says, frowning around her glass of water as she takes a sip.

“Someone you know?” Hardison asks, looking over at her, concerned by the strange tone to her voice.

She shakes her head, and shrugs, as if unable to explain what she’s trying to say.

“I didn’t know him,” she says, “we literally ran into each other. It was just…”

“Something… special… about this guy?” Eliot asks, knowing full well that Parker would substitute “special” for “dangerous”, as he intended.

“Not at all,” Parker says, but she still looks troubled.

“He was perfectly normal,” she continues, worrying her lip under her teeth.

“But?” Hardison asks.

“He was _too_ normal,” Parker says, decidedly. “Like he was doing everything he could to appear perfectly normal.”

“Like he’s running a con?” Eliot asks, overly familiar with the concept of trying to blend into the background.

“Not quite,” Parker says, thinking about it. “More like… I think maybe he’s in trouble. Our kind of trouble.”

“Why?” Eliot asks.

“Because he looked at me like he wanted me to save him,” she says, after a moment of consideration.

“He’s probably just running from his bookie, Hardison says, not unkindly.

Eliot nods in agreement. “Vegas can be a nasty place when you owe people money.”

“That’s probably it,” Parker says, shrugging. “It was just weird.”

“We’ll keep an eye out for him, then,” Hardison says, squeezing her hand. “Can you recognize him again if you see him?”

Parker thinks about the man’s unremarkable face and non-descript outfit and falters for a moment in answering the question. But then she remembers the desperate look in his eyes that only lasted a second, and she nods.

“Pretty sure, yeah,” she says at last.

They finish their dinner in companionable silence, enjoying the old Italian music floating through the air.

.

After dinner, Parker and Hardison decide to take a walk down the strip to see the sights. Eliot shoos them away, letting them have their romantic stroll in peace. He wanders idly around the area, trying to figure out what there is to do in Vegas when you aren’t gambling, drinking, or hooking up.

As if on cue, a familiar black and gold streaked head appears in front of him, and he has to chuckle to himself at the timing. Annie notices him after a moment, before breaking out into a grin.

“Hey, stranger,” she says, raising her tall glass of purple alcohol in greeting. Her eyes are shiny with the buzz, but she’s far from gone.

“What you got, there?” Eliot asks in amusement, gesturing to her drink.

“No idea,” Annie replies, before taking a long sip through the swirly straw. “But it’s good. You want some?”

Eliot shrugs before reaching out and accepting the glass, taking his own long draw from it. Only years of practice prevent him from coughing at the sudden rush of alcohol into his senses.

“That is some strong drink you’ve got there,” he says instead, blinking against it.

“I said that with the first one,” Annie agrees, amiably. “But this is drink number four, and now it just tastes like purple.”

“Is purple a flavor?” Eliot asks, laughing.

‘ _Everything_ is a flavor,” she replies, solemnly.

“How are you even still conscious?” Eliot asks, because he’s honestly impressed. The woman is barely over five feet tall and can’t weight more than 120 pounds at a stretch.

“Magic,” she says, wiggling her fingers at him and giggling. “More importantly,” she says, “why aren’t you on my level right now?”

“I’m working my way up to purple,” Eliot says, unable to help the smile from spreading across his face.

Annie nods and then looks up at him seriously.

“That makes sense. You can’t just jump into purple. Come on; let me introduce you to orange.”

She reaches out her hand and Eliot doesn’t even think before wrapping his own around it.

“There we go!” she exclaims happily, “this way!”

.

Parker and Hardison get to the lighted fountains just in time to see the show, Parker leaning into Hardison’s shoulder now that she’s abandoned her high heels in favor of slip on shoes for their walk.

“This is really cool,” Hardison says, and Parker can tell he means the technical aspect of it, the way they pull the whole thing together.

“Ooh, pretty,” Parker agrees, because that’s as far as her feelings go on the matter.

Hardison laughs and loops an arm around her waist. “It is,” he agrees.

Suddenly there’s a collective “awww” going through the crowd on the other side of the fountain, and they scurry over to check out what’s happening.

There’s a pink-haired girl in torn black tights and an electric blue dress kneeling on the ground. She’s looking up at her blushing girlfriend with a hopeful look on her face and a ring box in her hands. The other girl has long blonde hair and is wearing jeans and a t-shirt, and is currently well on her way to bursting into tears.

“Well?” the pink-haired one asks, the hope on her face being betrayed by just a touch of fear.

The blonde laughs then, loud and a little manic, but she’s nodding rapidly.

“Of course!” she says, pulling her new fiancée to her feet.

“Dammit, CeCe, I was going to ask you!”

CeCe laughs, pulling her in for a kiss.

“Beat you to it, Kitten.”

.

“Kitten?” Parker whispers, giggling to herself.

“Oh, shush,” Hardison says, rolling his eyes. “That was sweet.”

‘Sap,” Parker says, but her eyes are just as shiny as his.

She grins over at him before sprinting towards the still-embracing couple, before Hardison can even think to stop her.

The crowd has dispersed now that both the lights and the proposal are over, so Parker gets to them easily, just as they’re pulling away from each other, sappy smiles still on their faces.

“Congratulations!” Parker says, bounding up to them with an only slightly deranged smile on her face.

“Thanks!” the blonde woman says, before frowning slightly. “Wait, do we know you?”

“Nope,” Parker says, “just wanted to say congratulations. And give you this.”

The women look down in confusion at the small stack of hundred dollar bills Parker hands them. The blonde woman reaches out after a moment though, shrugging.

“Katherine!” CeCe scolds, “We can’t just take money from a mysterious, if insanely attractive woman.”

“Sure you can!” Parker says, shrugging, “I took it from my boyfriend, anyway. He has plenty of money. And also, thank you for the compliment.”

“Parker, did you take my wallet?” Hardison asks, as he finally makes his way over to the three of them.

Katherine closes her hand a little bit tighter around the money, and tucking her hand against her chest.

“I did,” Parker replies, grinning over at him. “They needed a wedding present.”

“You have your own money, you know,” Hardison says, but he’s just shaking his head with no real heat behind the words.

He looks over at the couple and their happy-in-love glow, and shrugs.

“Congrats,” he says, “go nuts.”

To his surprise, Katherine lunges at him with a full bodied hug that knocks his breath out for a moment. She gives Parker a similar hug a moment later, CeCe just chuckling beside them.

“Thank you,” she says, seriously. “It’s always nice not to be jeered at.”

Hardison nods, grabbing Parker’s hand in his own, knowing that there are still far too many places that would consider his own relationship an abomination.

“This is starting to feel like an after-school special,” Katherine laughs, breaking up the sweet if awkward moment. “Why don’t you guys come have some drinks with us?”

“We’ll celebrate,” CeCe agrees, “what do you say?”

Parker and Hardison share a complicated exchange of facial expressions and silent communication, before turning back to the couple.

“I think we’re just gonna keep walking,” Parker answers, “we’re only here for a few days.”

“And you should go enjoy yourselves,” Hardison adds.

“I’m pretty sure he means we should go have sex,” Katherine says, holding out her fist for Hardison to bump.

He does so, and laughs at her accurate assessment.

“Works for me,” CeCe says, reaching into Katherine’s pockets to pull out a business card.

“Here,” she says, handing the card to Hardison, “look us up on facebook or something; we’ll invite you to the wedding.”

“Vermont,” Hardison says, laughing slightly.

“We are the stereotype,” Katherine agrees. “But you should come anyway.”

“You know,” Parker says to Hardison, “We never did get to tour the Ben & Jerry’s plant…”

“Well, that’s because one of us ended up causing a hospital riot after being admitted…” Hardison reminds her.

“Who the hell eats lime jello?” Parker argues, “That riot was 100% justifiable.”

“Ahem,” CeCe coughs pointedly. “Just look us up. I’m CeCe, by the way.”

“Parker,” she replies, and nods her head over, “that’s Hardison.”

“Nice to meet you,” Katherine says, “most people call me Kat.”

They all shake hands, officially, and finally say their goodbye, Hardison promising to look them up when they get home.

“Just when I think I’ve got you figured out,” Hardison says, as he and Parker continue on their walk, in the opposite direction of the women, “you surprise me again.”

“I’m keeping you on your toes, is all,” Parker says, but her voice wavers just enough for Hardison to hear the insecurity.

“I love that about you,” he assures her. “It’s never boring, and I wouldn’t want it to be.”

“We’re pretty good together,” Parker says, “especially when nobody is trying to blow us up.”

“Those are my favorite days,” Hardison agrees, as they continue on their way.

.

.

An hour later, and Eliot is one hundred percent sure that he can taste the color orange, as well as red and unexpectedly, teal. He hasn’t reached purple yet, but Annie seems intent on getting him there fairly quickly. In a series of blurry movements that are already half-forgotten, she’s moved them from the street to her hotel room. It’s nothing special, just two beds and the standard decorations, but it’s blessedly quiet after the noise of the crowds outside, and conveniently free of any of the other women she’d been travelling with.

“Ready for purple?” Annie asks, coming over to straddle him where he’d dropped on one of the beds. He wonders vaguely where her dress has gone, and if his mysteriously missing shirt has joined it in some sort of cotton and polyester adventure, but then Annie is pressed up against him, tipping a shot glass into his mouth, chasing the liquid with her lips.

He falls backward with a wide smile across his face, beckoning Annie to join him. She does, and when she kisses him again, he finally tastes purple.

.

“You ever think about getting married?” Hardison ask Parker later that night, after they’re worn out and lying in bed, settling in for sleep.

He’s lying on his back, arms tucked under his head, looking up at the ceiling in the dark.

Beside him, Parker shuffle, turning to her side and leaning her head up on her hand, placing her other hand on Hardison’s chest and thrumming her fingers thoughtfully.

“Sometimes,” she says, after a moment, and it’s more than Hardison expected.

“Yeah?” he says, unable to keep the happiness out of his voice.

“Yeah,” Parker says, “but not anytime soon, so don’t get any eloping ideas in your pretty little head.”

“At least you think I’m pretty,” Hardison says, pulling one hand out from behind his head to cover hers.

“The prettiest,” Parker agrees, sleepily. “You can wear the dress if you want. But it’s probably way too late for either of us to wear white.”

“I would look dashing in an off-shoulder number,” Hardison says, grinning. “But I think I’ll stick with a tuxedo.”

“I’ll wear the dress, then,” Parker says, yawning. “But no train. Too impractical for running.”

“Nobody is going to chase us at our wedding,” Hardison laughs, knowing full well that the chances of that exact scenario are definitely more than zero.

“We’ll see,” Parker says, scratching her nails against Hardison’s chest lightly, already mostly asleep.

Hardison just beams into the darkness, because Parker talks as if their marriage is an inevitability, when all he hoped for had been a possibility.

Sleep comes easy that night.

.

.

Eliot wakes up slowly, blinking against the sunlight that’s streaming into the room. His head hurts less than he’s expecting as memories from the previous night flood in. Still, his mouth feels like cotton and his bladder is so full that it hurts, so he stumbles into the bathroom. He relieves himself and washes his hands and face, before rummaging around until he finds an unopened bottle of mouthwash that he uses to make his mouth taste less like death.

When he comes back out of the bathroom, Annie is awake and looking up at him, but otherwise unmoving.

“Hey,” she says, voice cracking with the effort.

“Kind of hungover?” Eliot asks, already scanning the room for painkillers.

He finds a bottle of Tylenol after a minute and grabs a bottle of water from the bedside table and walks around to Annie’s side of the bed and offering them to her.

When she just groans at him, he chuckles and places the items down on the table and gently maneuvers Annie into a sitting position, propping her up with pillows against the headboard.

“Drink,” he says, “it’ll help.”

She glares at him, but takes the water anyway, drinking down a long sip before swallowing the three Tylenol that Eliot hands her.

“I regret _everything_ ” she says, hoarsely, leaning her head down to rest on her pulled up knees.

Eliot’s hand falters where it had been rubbing her back consolingly.

“Not you,” she hurries to correct, “just all the alcohol. Never again, oh my god.”

“Not eighteen anymore, huh?” Eliot asks, unable to resist teasing her just a little bit.

“Ugh,” Annie replies, “I’d say fuck off, but you brought me painkillers, so I’m pretty sure you’re my God and savior now. At least until the room stops spinning.”

Eliot just laughs in response, resuming the back-rubbing.

“How are you not hungover?” Annie asks, sounding irrationally angry at the idea that he isn’t suffering with her.

“I am,” Eliot says, “I just have a higher pain tolerance than you.”

“Like hell,” she says, “I’ve been through childbirth, I can handle pain. This? This is just cruelty.”

Eliot is, understandably, taken aback.

“Childbirth?”

Annie groans, and lifts her head to give him a sheepish grin.

“I probably should have mentioned that before. I have a daughter; she’ll be five this year.”

Eliot shrugs.

“It wasn’t my business,” he says, honestly, giving her a small grin back.

Annie reaches for her phone from the bedside table and squints against the screen, swiping at it ineffectually a few times until she finally gets into the camera’s folder and pulls up a picture of a smiling little girl with big green eyes and chocolate on her face.

“That’s my Samantha,” she says, the fondness in her voice apparent even under the hangover.

“She’s beautiful,” Eliot says, “looks like she can raise a little hell when she wants to.”

“She is my blood, undoubtedly,” Annie agrees, smiling.

“You should take a shower,” Eliot suggests, before they can get too personal, “It’ll help. I’ll make some coffee, yeah?”

“If I don’t drown in the shower, I look forward to it,” Annie says, shoving Eliot slightly so she can get up.

“Don’t drown,” Eliot says, staring blatantly as she walks to the bathroom stark naked, either completely unselfconscious, or too hung-over to care.

.

By the time Annie is done with her shower, Eliot has the coffee waiting and has run out and back for some muffins and bagels from the hotel lobby. She comes out of the bathroom in cozy sweatpants and a soft t-shirt, looking much livelier than before, and takes the cup of coffee from him gratefully.

“So,” she says, after taking a long, blessed, sip.

“About last night?” Eliot asks, smirking around his own cup.

“About last night,” she agrees.

Eliot sighs and leans back in his chair. Annie settles down on the bed, across from him, and waits.

“This is awkward,” Eliot says, finally.

Annie nods. “It really is. But hey, it was fun. What I remember, anyway.”

They share another moment of awkward silence before breaking into laughter at the whole situation.

“Where’re you going home to?” Eliot asks, now that the tension is broken.

“San Francisco,” she says, “you?”

“I… it’s complicated,” Eliot replies.

Annie just raises an eyebrow at him and takes another sip, silently telling him to go on and explain.

“We,” he explains, my friends and I, we have this business. It sort of takes us all over the place. And we’ve been up in Portland for the last couple of years, but now I’m not sure it’s home anymore.”

“What changed?” Annie asks, curious.

“Our bosses got hitched and left the business to us,” he says, lightly. “It’s been an adjustment.”

“So, Vegas?”

“Parker’s idea,” Eliot says, laughing, “Hardison’s vote was Hawaii. I think that might be next.”

“What about your job?” she asks.

“It’s mobile,” he shrugs, “clients are everywhere.”

“They ever pop up in San Francisco?”

Eliot looks up at her, taking in those sweet eyes and crooked smile.

“You never know,” he says, “maybe.”

“Here’s to maybe, then,” Annie says, and they both laugh as she lifts her cup in a mock salute.

.

.

Parker runs into the average man in the cheap suit again that afternoon. She and Hardison are making the rounds so Hardison can try a few table games, when they come upon him at one of the high-stakes poker tables. Parker joins the game before she can stop herself; handing over a few $500 chips she’d stolen off some Chinese businessmen a few tables ago. She positions herself across from him, trying to catch his eye, but he refuses to make contact. Instead, he focuses on his cards so intently that she wouldn’t be surprised if they burst into flames at any given moment.

The dealer gives out the new cards and Parker spares hers a cursory glance before focusing on the man again. She can feel Hardison hovering nearby, watching out for her, though security won’t let him too close unless he’s playing.

The other players are silent as well, staring at their own cards in between trying to read each other’s poker faces. Parker has a bad hand, nothing that could let her win, but she only needs to bluff long enough to get a feel for the man. So, she schools her features as best she can, a mix of learning between Sophie and Eliot’s methods, and tries to figure out what is going on.

He’s nervous, she can tell that much, and she’s pretty sure it goes beyond the normal gambler’s nerves. Even beyond the average addict’s nerves. He’s trying his best to remain calm, but Parker can tell he’s only moments away from a panic attack, and is barely holding it together.

And then she notices the guards. At first, she thought they were just the normal security guards, if a little excessive because of the high-stakes nature of the table. But the more she sees, the more she realizes that they are focused on the man specifically. She wonders if they’re protecting him; maybe he’s some sort of politician or dignitary. But his body language is all wrong for that. She’s not sure what the problem is, but she knows he doesn’t feel comfortable, or safe, and certainly not protected. No, these men, with the wide shoulders and hidden weapons, aren’t keeping him safe. They’re keeping him trapped.

She’s out in the next hand, she never could quite get the hang of poker, but she’s gotten all she can from the game anyway, and walked away with chips from most of the player’s pockets, so she feels accomplished.

“See what I mean?” she asks Hardison, after they’re safely out of earshot.

Hardison nods, picking up their pace slightly in his haste to talk about it.

“There is definitely something fishy going on with that man,” he says. “We need to track Eliot down. I feel like this might get a little… punchy.”

Parker snorts. “He does like to punch.”

.

Eliot meets them in their room about an hour later, freshly showered and dressed, daring them with his eyebrows to say anything about his previous whereabouts.

“We officially have a client!” Parker exclaims, grinning and bouncing in place where she stands.

“Who found us here?” Eliot asks, resigned to the fact that he’d be part of this job whether he likes it or not.

“Parker found him,” Hardison explains, only rolling his eyes a little bit. “It’s the super average guy she told us about.”

“Super average doesn’t make sense,” Eliot points out.

“It will when you see him,” Hardison replies.

“Did this guy actually tell us he wants our help?” Eliot asks, crossing his arms over his chest and waiting.”

“Not with his words, so much,” Parker says.

“Or with his actions,” Hardison admits, “but we still need to help him. And tomorrow is the time to do it.”

Eliot sighs. “Alright, fine. How are we doing this?”

.

.

**Now(A few minutes previous)**

**.**

“Poker, huh?” Hardison says, grinning as he takes his seat at the table. “Poker, poker poker. Loves me some poker!”

“Tone it down,” Parker hisses in his ear over the comms.

The other players at the table barely pay him any attention, which Hardison thinks is a testament to his excellent acting.

“So,” he continues out loud, “My name is Bruce; I’m a trust-fund kid, no use hiding that. My family is loaded but emotionally detached. And that… that makes me want to rebel, you know? Stick it to the man and all that. You know… I think it all stems back from that summer in Germany. My mother and father were always away on business, and Germany was supposed to be a family vacation, you know? So we went and like, it was great at first. But then they both got called away to work, and left me with Olga. Mean old lady, that Olga, but hey she taught me how to play cards, and let me drink her fancy German beer, and hey, you know, maybe that explains why I started drinking so young…”

“I suggest you stop talking, before I make your mouth stop running by shooting a bullet through it. “

Hardison looks up at the large man with a thick Russian accent and mimes zipping his lips in an exaggerated motion.

“Why are they always Russian?” Parker sighs.

“Some folks shouldn’t go out in public, am I right?” Eliot interrupts, casting Hardison a dirty look before sharing a conspiratorial grin with the large Russian.

“You are correct, my tiny friend,” the Russian says, laughing and clapping Eliot on the back.

Hardison has to nearly bite through his tongue to keep from laughing.

Eliot, thankfully, keeps his cool and just smiles back at the Russian genially.

“Shall we play, gentlemen?” A crisp female voice asks, her voice an odd mix of accents, leaving them unable to figure out where she was supposed to be from.

She settles at the head of the table and nods to them all in greeting.

“Aric,” she says to the Russian on her left, smiling minutely. Aric nods back to her, raising his drink in greeting.

“Mandy, Manny,” she nods to the pair of siblings sitting to her right. They blink back at her in a creepy synchronicity that Hardison tries hard to ignore.

“Johnny, was it?” she asks Eliot.

“Yes, ma’am,” Eliot replies, in an exaggerated Texan drawl.

“Old oil money, I presume,” she continues, giving Eliot a once-over with her eyes.

“You got me!” Eliot replies, practically oozing the fake charm from his pores. “Johnny Vanderbilten, of the Houston Vanderbilten’s, of course.”

“I’ve run into your relations before, I think,” she says, “a cousin perhaps, in West Virginia.”

“Well, I’ve got cousins all over, ma’am,” Eliot deflects, “you might well have run into one of us.”

“Perhaps,” she says, moving on.

“You,” she says, finally landing on Hardison. “My men tell me you approached them with interest for this game. I don’t mean to offend, but how did someone like you hear about our little group?”

“You hear things,” Hardison shrugs, giving her his best doe-eyed look, “my father was a big gambler. Always talked about the exclusive games run in Vegas. I figured I should try it out.”

“Very well,” she says, turning her attention to the last player at the table, the average man.

“Robert, darling,” she says, warmly, “I trust you’ve been enjoying the penthouse suite?”

“Of course,” Robert replies, with a carefully controlled tone of voice.

“What the hell is going on?” Parker asks, more to herself than Hardison or Eliot at this point.

Hardison shrugs, sliding it into an exaggerated stretch, knowing that Eliot’s button cam with pick up the gesture for Parker to see.

“Yeah, I’ve got nothing either,” Parker agrees. “I mean, we know Robert is just a middle class guy from Illinois. No wife, no kids, nothing spectacular about him or his skills. He’s not even particularly wealthy. What are these people so interested in?”

They had run him through every facial recognition and government system that they could, only coming back with a few speeding tickets and his name in the papers a few times with his college basketball team.

“Can we get this moving along, yes?” Aric asks, obviously bored with the pleasantries.

“Of course,” the woman says, gesturing to one of the security guards by the door. “Bring in the new deck and chips,” she demands.

“Finally,” Parker hisses into their ears, adjusting her stolen uniform a final time.

“You are not Rebecca,” Aric says, as she wheels in the small table with supplies.

Parker gives him a sunny smile. “She said you would be disappointed,” she says, “but she had to call out sick today. Nasty stomach bug. Not something you want to catch, trust me.”

“She talked about me?” Aric asks, giant bushy eyebrows somehow managing to look both severe and pleased at the same time.

“She was sad to not be here,” Parker says, trying her best to look contrite.

“Gustav,” the woman interrupts, “bring out today’s big prize.”

Gustav nods and disappears through a side door for a moment, coming back with a struggling man with a gag in his mouth, feet and hands secured by zip ties. He can barely stand because of it, and his struggles against Gustav cause him to fall to the floor, where he remains, glaring up at them all with disdain in his eyes.

“This was not covered in the rules,” Hardison points out, looking at the woman with confusion.

“Perhaps you are playing above your comfort level now, Bruce. But you agreed to the terms, and I’m afraid I cannot let you leave now. As for the rest of you, you should have been briefed on the rules if you did not know them already. This man has caused me much trouble. Whoever wins this game will be awarded with an additional hundred thousand dollars. And will get the privilege of disposing of the vermin.”

Hardison can’t help the look of shock that flashes across his face. Six years and counting of dealing with truly terrible criminals, and they can still surprise him.

The rest of the table turns their glances towards him, and he quickly covers as much of his face with his hand as he can, picking up the freshly dealt hand he’s been given and pretending to study it carefully.

“You’re obviously a powerful friend to have, Ms….”

“You may call me Isla,” she replies, “and you are correct, I am. And I do hope we can be friends, Bruce. I’d hate to need to have this rug cleaned again.”

“You can never have too many friends,” Hardison says, probably a touch too quickly, but the room seems to buy it, so he counts it as a win. “What did he do, anyway?”

He knows it’s a risky move, but it might be the only chance they get to ask before the situation escalates.

“He questioned my authority and got my husband killed,” Isla answers coolly, somehow sounding more upset about the former than the latter.

“Your husband got himself killed,” Robert breaks in, his face suddenly going from carefully blank to outright furious. “He got himself killed because he thought it was ok to sell high end weapons to third world countries with little to no knowledge of how to use them, and militia that have no business possessing weapons like that. He got himself killed because he killed one of my men, but not before he managed to shove a blade into your _husband’s_ black heart.”

For a moment, the room is silent enough to hear a pin drop. Then, all at once, hell breaks loose.

Isla jumps to her feet, drawing a gun from her open handbag on the floor. She points it at him, as her men begin to surround her in protection.

Robert spares a moment to look at the other players in the room. “You all might want to run.”

“Nobody will be running,” Isla says.

The siblings freeze in place, unsure of what to do, but obviously terrified. Parker slides over to them as quickly as she can without causing attention to herself and tries to reassure them without making any noise. She puts a hand on one of their shoulders each and gives it a little squeeze, hoping they know enough to duck if bullets start flying.

Gustav merely looks put out, as if he’d truly been looking forward to a good game of poker.

Parker sees Isla aiming a second before the gun goes off, and she just manages to leap enough to knock her arms slightly, so that the bullet embeds in the wall behind Robert, instead of in his skull.

And that’s when the goons attack all at once.

For a minute, everything is a frenzy of bullets and shouting. Mandy and Manny are bright enough to duck, it turns out, and they slink under the table as fast as they can and hope for the best. Hardison grabs the zip-tied man and drags him as far under the table as he’ll go, pulling off his gag in the process.

.

“This was supposed to be a vacation!”

Parker takes a moment in the chaos to stick her tongue out at Eliot, before diving under the heavy table.

“Not the time, princess!”

“Seriously?” Eliot grumbles, knocking a gun out of the closest goon’s hand and casually kicking the man’s knee in until he drops to the floor. “Another hair joke?”

“It is getting a little bit long,” Hardison puts in, grinning in satisfaction as his final attacker collapses under the intensity of Hardison’s taser gun.

“Who _are_ you people?”

The three of them freeze and look down at the zip-tied man sitting on the floor.

Parker offers him a wide grin, and its calming effect is only dampened slightly by the fact that she has the heel of her boot pressed against a near-unconscious man’s throat.

“Us?” she says. “We’re the good guys.”

The zip-tied man, understandably, looks less than convinced.

…..

**Now(Now, now)**

“The good guys?” The zip-tied man asks, watching Eliot knocking out the remaining goon, before advancing on Isla.

Parker makes sure the man beneath her is well and truly unconscious before crouching down beside the tied man and slicing open his zip-ties with her pocket-knife.

“Relatively,” she says, “we’re not the ones who tied you up and planned on killing you, that’s for sure.”

“More importantly,” Hardison says, turning his attention to Robert. “Who the hell are you?”

“FBI,” Eliot calls out from where he’s busy disarming Isla’s gun and cuffing her hands behind her back.

“Are those my cuffs?” Robert asks, frowning.

“We’re only borrowing them,” Parker says, shrugging.

“And how did you know I was FBI?” Robert continues, glaring at Eliot suspiciously.

“You have a very distinctive…. lack of distinction,” Eliot replies, shrugging. “That kind of anonymity has to be taught.”

“Been undercover for nearly 2 years,” Robert admits. “Been trying to take Isla down for even longer. But I’ve never been able to get a wire in any of the games or meetings.”

“My man,” Hardison grins, “you are about to love us.”

Eliot taps the buttons of his shirt thoughtfully, fingers brushing over the tiny camera.

.

.

“So, he wasn’t the victim after all,” Hardison muses later, as they’re getting a celebratory drink in the bar of their hotel.

“Not yet, anyway,” Parker says, “No way he would have gotten out of that situation alive otherwise.”

“Hey,” Eliot says, “he gets to keep the footage and leave us out of the report. He’ll get all the credit, and we prevented him from getting shot in the face.”

“Not to mention took down a vengeful crime boss. On a day off.” Hardison adds.

“We’re awesome,” Parker says, raising her glass to them. “And Eliot, you owe me five bucks.”

“I nearly got shot!” Eliot protest. “Again!”

“Exactly,” Parker says, smugly.

“If I remember correctly,” Hardison puts in, “the deal was you would owe her five bucks if you ended up having fun.”

“And we all know you never have more fun than when you’re punching people and narrowly escaping death,” Parker says, matter-of-factly.

“I really don’t like you,” Eliot says, sighing as he hands over a five dollar bill.

Parker’s cackling laughter echoes throughout the small bar, startling several other customers, and Eliot can’t help it, he laughs along.

.

The next day is their last full day in Las Vegas, and while Eliot is content to lie in bed all day and rest his sore body, Parker has different plans.

She drags them both out to the strip again, stopping in the M&Ms store and its connected Coca Cola store to take pictures with the giant polar bear and fill up several bags with customized candies. Hardison buys them each a cold Coke in a glass bottle from the retro looking counter, and they wander idly around, Eliot and Hardison lingering a few feet behind Parker as she tears through the stores.

“It’s just better in a glass bottle,” Hardison says, gesturing to his drink.

Eliot takes a sip, considering the point.

“It’s still sugary crap,” he says, nodding slightly, “but it is better than the plastic bottled stuff.”

“Look at that,” Hardison muses, smirking, “we actually agree on something.”

“Had to happen eventually,” Eliot says, rolling his eyes as he wanders over to the display of souvenirs.

He stops in front of the little rotatable rack of postcards and spins it slowly, to see if any particular card jumps out at him.

“For Sophie?” Hardison asks as he comes up beside Eliot, watching the cards turning.

Eliot shrugs.

“And Nate,” he says, “Figured it could just be one.”

“They still in Spain?” Hardison asks, having lost track of the newly married couple’s jetsetting about five countries ago.

“Norway, I think,” Eliot replies, studying a postcard with pugs playing poker for a moment, before shaking his head and deciding against it.

“What’s in Norway?” Hardison says.

“Norwegians,” Eliot says, because he just can’t help being a smart-ass. Hardison brings it out in him.

“You think you’re funny,” Hardison says. “You’re wrong.”

“I’m delightful,” Eliot replies, very nearly sticking his tongue out at Hardison like a child.

Hardison just ignores him and continues to browse the postcards. They lapse into comfortable silence for a few moments until Hardison breaks the silence again.

“I miss them, too,” he says, quietly.

Eliot tenses up involuntarily, and manages to scowl at Hardison for a good five seconds before his expression falters and he visibly deflates.

“I didn’t expect to,” he admits, still spinning the rack slowly, mostly for something to occupy his hands with.

“You don’t just forget five years,” Hardison says, sounding more casual than Eliot knows he feels.

“I have,” Eliot replies, trying and mostly failing to sound nonchalant. “I’ve forgotten entire chunks of my life.”

“That was probably due to extensive head trauma,” Hardison can’t help but chuckle a little bit.

“I don’t want to forget,” Eliot says, staring almost violently at the postcards. “Everything we did, all the people we helped, not even the times we almost died.”

“There’s no reason to,” Hardison says, “We’re still helping people. Parker’s a great leader. I still kick the cyberworld’s ass, and you still kick everyone else’s. We’ve got a good thing.”

“Then why haven’t we stayed in one place more than a few weeks since they left?” Eliot asks, more to himself than anything.

It feels like a weight lifted off his shoulders, to finally ask the question, to know it’s not just him.

“I think maybe we’re hoping they come back,” Hardison says slowly, as if it’s the first time he’s realized it.

“We’re idiots,” Eliot sighs, but he’s smiling.

“Rich idiots, at least,” Hardison replies, before reaching out at random and grabbing a card from the still-rotating rack.

Eliot slows it to a standstill and waits for Hardison to reveal his choice.

It’s a simple card, just a sunset view of the strip with the words Wish You Were Here looped along the bottom in white writing.

“That’ll do,” Eliot says, “Let’s go find Parker before she’s too doped up on sugar to function.”

.

Parker does indeed have quite the sugar buzz going when they find her, and she grins at them in delight when they walk over.

“My people!” she exclaims, throwing herself around Hardison in an excellent impersonation of a blonde octopus.

He startles from the sudden weight but steadies himself quickly, letting Parker maneuver herself so she’s on his back, with her arms across his chest and her thighs pressed along each side of his waist.

“Giddyup!” she says, reaching down to smack Hardison’s ass.

Eliot just shakes his head and does his best to appear not to know them.

“Where to?” Hardison asks.

“I require french fries!” Parker proclaims, pointing vaguely in the direction of the nearby food court.

“You know,” Eliot muses, as they head out, “Nobody would believe you were a successful mastermind of an internationally successful band of thieves in this moment.”

“This is vacation, Eliot,” Parker says. “Plus, we already did our good deed by saving the FBI guy. Today, I want sugar and french fries, and to hang out with my best friends.”

And Eliot, well, he really can’t argue with that. So he doesn’t.

.

.

“You have to promise not to laugh,” Hardison says later that night, after they’ve had dinner and are heading back towards the hotel.

“I can’t do that,” Eliot says, because he’s mostly an honest man these days.

“I’ll try,” Parker says, earnestly.

“There’s this show I really want to go to, in about an hour,” Hardison says, “And I maybe already got floor seats so you guys could come with me.”

“What could you possibly be embarrassed about in Las Vegas?” Eliot asks, baffled, “is it the Australian stripper guys?”

Hardison sighs.

“That might actually be less embarrassing,” he says, before handing them each a ticket.

Parker looks down and immediately begins wheezing with laugher that she quickly muffles with her hand clamped across her mouth.

Eliot, however, just shrugs.

“Could be fun,” he says, “after a few shots, anyway.”

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Hardison says, grinning. He turns a glare on Parker briefly.

“You and me are gonna have words when we get home, missy.”

Parker barely has time to look offended before Hardison is apologizing.

“Please let’s just forget I called you missy. I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven,” Parker says, “if you forgive me for laughing.”

“Deal,” Hardison says.

“Oh, come on,” Eliot groans, “stop being cute, and let’s get a move-on. We’ve got a lot of middle-age ladies to wade through.”

.

.

“He’s actually taller than I expected,” Parker yells into Eliot’s ear, as they watch Rod Stewart dance around the stage like a much younger man.

“He’s not bad,” Eliot yells back, nudging Parker to look over at Hardison.

Hardison is watching the stage with adoration, swaying and singing along with abandon. Eliot maybe secretly thinks it’s kind of adorable.

Parker actually “awws” out loud, though, so he figures he’s safe.

The song changes and Parker’s face lights up as she leans closer against Hardison’s side.

“I actually know this one!” she shouts, and Hardison grins back.

He loops an arm around her waist and they dance together as the chorus starts.

_Oh, the rhythm of my heart_   
_is beating like a drum_   
_with the words "I Love you"_   
_rolling off my tongue._   
_No, never will I roam,_   
_for I know my place is home._   
_Where the ocean meets the sky,_   
_I'll be sailing._

_._

_._

The flight home is uneventful, Parker and Hardison sleeping the whole way while Eliot reads the murder mystery he’d picked up in the airport convenience store. It’s predictable and more than a little inaccurate, but he finds that picking it apart is half the fun.  Before he knows it, the wheels are going down and they’re landing smoothly in Portland.

It’s not raining, which is a pleasant surprise. It’s an hour or so before sunset and the air is warm when they finally make their way outside. There’s a line of taxis just waiting, so they’re on their way home a lot faster than they expected.

It’s a bit of a drive, with the traffic and sprawling nature of the city’s geography, but Eliot doesn’t mind. Parker and Hardison curl up against each other and are asleep again in moments, and Eliot just rolls his eyes at them fondly before rattling off the address for the cab driver.

The radio is playing some current pop hit that Eliot vaguely recognizes but doesn’t care enough to place. He watches the city go by in pieces as they ride along, and there’s something about it that nags at him in a way he can’t pinpoint.

The sun is setting by the time they reach the bridge to cross into downtown, and Eliot looks out along the water, smiling faintly at the sight.

The cabbie has apparently decided he’s had enough of the top 40s station, so he turns the knob to an oldies station, and Eliot can’t help the bark of laughter that escapes when he realizes what song they’ve come into. The river’s not quite the ocean, he thinks, but it’s close enough to make him laugh at the coincidence.

He watches the sunset for as long as he can as they make their way slowly along the bridge. Behind him, Rod Stewart sings from the speakers, and Eliot spares a glance back to his sleeping friends before singing quietly along.

_“No, never will I roam,_   
_for I know my place is home._   
_Where the ocean meets the sky,_   
_I'll be sailing.”_

.

THE END


End file.
